Dead and Gone

did I talk to Bud Dearborn, I also had to talk to lots of other people. Later, I couldn’t remember any of the conversations I had. I told the truth to whoever asked me questions.
    I didn’t mention seeing the fairy in the woods simply because no one asked me, “Did you see anyone else here this afternoon?” When I had a second of not feeling stunned and miserable, I wondered why he’d shown himself, why he’d come. Was he tracking me somehow? Was there some kind of supernatural bug planted on me?
    “Sookie,” Bud Dearborn said. I blinked.
    “Yessir?” I stood up, and my muscles were trembling.
    “You can go now, and we’ll talk to you again later,” he said.
    “Thanks,” I told him, hardly aware of what I was saying. I climbed into my car, feeling absolutely numb. I told myself to drive home and put on my waitress outfit and get to work. Hustling drinks would be better than sitting at home recycling the events of the day, if I could manage to stand up that long.
    Amelia was at work, so I had the house to myself as I pulled on my working pants and my long-sleeved Merlotte’s T-shirt. I felt cold to the bone and wished for the first time that Sam had thought about stocking a Merlotte’s sweatshirt. My reflection in the bathroom mirror was awful: I was white as a vampire, I had big circles under my eyes, and I guessed I looked exactly like someone who’d seen a lot of people bleeding that day.
    The evening felt cold and still as I walked out to my car. Night would fall soon. Since Eric and I had bonded, I’d found myself thinking of him every day as the sky grew dark. Now that we’d slept together, my thoughts had turned into cravings. I tried to stuff him in the back of my mind on the drive to the bar, but he persisted in popping to the fore.
    Maybe because the day had been such a nightmare, I discovered I would give my entire savings account to see Eric right now . I trudged toward the employee door, gripping the trowel stuffed in my shoulder bag. I thought I was ready for an attack, but I was so preoccupied I didn’t send out my extra sense to detect another presence, and I didn’t see Antoine in the shadow of the Dumpster until he stepped out to greet me. He was smoking a cigarette.
    “Geez Louise, Antoine, you scared me to death.”
    “Sorry, Sookie. You planning on doing some planting?” He eyed the trowel I’d whipped out of my bag. “We ain’t too busy this evening. I took me a minute to have a smoke.”
    “Everybody calm tonight?” I stuffed the trowel down into my purse without trying to explain. Maybe he would chalk it up to my general strangeness.
    “Yeah, no one preaching to us; no one getting killed.” He smiled. “D’Eriq’s full of talk about some guy showing up earlier that D’Eriq thought was a fairy. D’Eriq’s on the simple side, but he can see stuff no one else can. But—fairies?”
    “Not fairy like gay, but fairy like Tinker Bell?” I’d thought I didn’t have enough remaining energy to be alarmed. I’d thought wrong. I glanced around the parking lot with considerable alarm.
    “Sookie? It’s true?” Antoine was staring at me.
    I shrugged weakly. Busted.
    “Shit,” Antoine said. “Well, shit. This ain’t the same world I was born into, is it?”
    “No, Antoine. It isn’t. If D’Eriq says anything else, please tell me. It’s important.” Could have been my great-grandfather watching over me, or his son Dillon. Or it could have been Mr. Hostile who’d been lurking in the woods. What had set the fae world off? For years, I’d never seen one. Now you couldn’t throw a trowel without hitting a fairy.
    Antoine eyed me doubtfully. “Sure, Sookie. You in any trouble I should know about?”
    Hip-deep in alligators. “No, no. I’m just trying to avoid a problem,” I said, because I didn’t want Antoine to worry and I especially didn’t want him to share that worry with Sam. Sam was sure to be worried enough.
    Of course, Sam had heard several versions of the events at Arlene’s trailer, and I had to give him a quick summary as I got ready to work. He was deeply upset about the intentions of Donny and Whit, and when I told him Donny was dead, he said, “Whit should have got killed, too.”
    I wasn’t sure I was hearing him right. But when I looked into Sam’s face, I could see he was really angry, really vengeful. “Sam, I think enough people have died,” I said. “I haven’t exactly forgiven them, and maybe that’s not even something I